What If...

Standing there in front of her, I went back all those years. I was deliberating; I did not know how to answer that simple question, “how r u?” I wanted to say I was fine. I had a lovely wife, children, and a happy life. But somehow her question was not looking for these answers. I could feel it; she looked at me with those searching eyes, trying to answer the unanswered. I remembered those eyes; from years that were so far back in time that they seemed to belong to someone else.

That evening we had found ourselves, alone, in her room. I was going away the next day and she said she wanted to show me something. The rest of the household resided in an expectant hush, waiting and hoping for something to change. The day before, I had said no. No, to a marriage proposal that had made its way across the myriad channels of relationships that linked her to me. She had not believed it. She, who was the belle of the ball, the cynosure of all eyes, every young man’s dream. She had chosen me and I had refused her. I, who was practically an out-of-town nobody, still struggling to juggle my studies and a part-time job. As she sat before me, I knew she wanted to ask me all that was going like a storm through her confused mind. I felt a little afraid. I was not very adept at handling women, far less situations as delicate as this.

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. It was then that I gathered up all the courage to tell her that my circumstances did not allow marriage, at least not at the moment. “Tell me yes, and I will wait. I will wait against all opposition. But I need to hear it from you.” At that moment commitment was the furthest thing from my mind. And to be fair to myself, I was not really in love. Or more correctly, I really did not feel anything that can be akin to the extreme emotions that one usually associates with love. How could I commit? I had to think of my younger siblings, who were still in school. My father already retired, pulling a decently sized family on the strength of his pension and my meagre earnings. I told her it was not possible. That she should find someone more suitable to her status. She sat there, still looking at me, her soulful eyes still searching for the unanswered truth, if any.

I came back the next day. I left her town, never to return again. And I left her memories, never to think back. At least that’s what I had thought. But, what remained were those haunting, searching eyes. Later on, I had thought many times, what if I had said yes, what if I had asked her to wait, what if…

Now as we stood, facing each other, once more those eyes were asking me something, hoping that the answer would be different from what my face so easily reflected. “I am very happy. I have a lovely family. After all this commotion is over, I will take you home to meet them.” She had come to attend a cousin’s wedding and I happened to be the cousin’s friend. We had met after ten years. We had never been in touch after that day. Our distantly related families thought it best to keep us from each other, lest our marriages be affected by even the whisper of a past association. “How are you?” Before, she could answer, I knew it. Her eyes said it all. “Well, I have a rich husband and a good life.” “Are you happy?” The moment I asked that, I regretted. What right did I have to ask if she was happy? She had wanted happiness from me. She had made no bones about it. And here she was standing here, in front of me, stripped of her poise; her emotions disarmingly at my mercy. It was so plainly there in front of me. How can I be so cruel? What did I expect to hear? Why was I looking for the unanswered “No”? Would that give me some sort of satisfaction? Would the feeling that someone’s happiness was and is in my hand, make me feel like God?

No, that was not it. I was not that sort of a person. I wished everyone a happy life, just as I wanted my loved ones to be happy. I just wanted to flow along with the rhythm of life. I had not done any harm to this woman in front of me. The woman, whose eyes were still brimming with so much of love, that it made me look away. We stood there, as time went by, each in our own thoughts, each in the other’s mind, each thinking, what if…

On The Journey

I could see her as she made her way up the rough terrain. She seemed to be competing against herself, trying to leave the group behind. Look, I can make it faster and better, she seemed to be saying. It was not as if I was part of the group either. But, what happens in journeys such as this is that you start together, and you try to keep together in a bid to end together. It’s what nature, particularly when the going is tough, does to you. So it was with us, the motley group of people, on our way up the tough mountain trek to attain spiritual salvation or to celebrate with nature’s glory; each to his own.

I had noticed her, rather her long hair, which lay plaited like a thick black snake, literally long enough to encircle her delicate waist. Was she beautiful? That’s a question for the beholder to decide. I was caught in the black depths of those far-away eyes. Now, before you get any thought about my desirous intentions, I have a point to clarify. She was a woman, a rare species in the given circumstance, a defiant image of shy boldness, her face a fleeting image that did not give you time to consider her beauty. So, it is, but obvious, that she stood out, in that stark landscape.

Now, why I noticed her was a little more and beyond these obvious reasons. At times, we had stopped at precisely the same instant, within a metre of each other, resting on the rocks that lined the deep gorge. Though this sequence of events was random at first, it became more planned, as the group thinned along the way. I had the feeling that she was trying to keep an assuring distance from me. Not too close to send any signal, yet not too far to risk any danger.

I was feeling quite tired, and stopped at the first tea-stall that had appeared like a divine intervention, after what seemed like miles. I watched, as she made each tired step around the bend in the road, her flushed face set with dogged determination. Slumping on to the rickety wooden bench, she looked up. Our eyes met, and those dark pools melted into their depths. Quite a novice in matters that concerned women, I hesitated thinking of an appropriate reaction. By the time I smiled back, she had turned away to order her tea. We sat sipping the milky concoction. Back home, this thick variety would not be taken sportingly, where tea meant flavour and liquor. The tea was quite hot, and as she blew into it, the vapour rose like a mist and veiled her face. She did not attempt to speak, and I was left with my unspoken words. I wanted to know her name, ask her why she was alone, and where she had come from. She gazed across the valley to the faraway mountains that stretched along unending, range after range, as far as the eye could see. I did not want to interfere in her solitude.

The tea-stall owner seemed a more agreeable person, and I started talking with him. I noticed that she was listening to our conversation. Since, I had heard at the bus stand about a short-cut that would be much faster though more rocky, I asked Mangu Lal about it. “Han sahib, hain na! Ap thordi age jao tow, bayen taraf thodi chadai mein ak rasta gayen hain. Ap aramse ek der ghante mein pounch jayenge. Par apko us raste mein khane pine ka kuch milega nehi.” Considering this bit of information, I was tempted. The rest had revived me a little, the smile of those dark eyes had created a ripple and I felt a little adventurous. Suddenly I saw her getting up, the empty tea cup and the two rupee coin was placed on the table. Before I could give my money, she had started. As I walked to catch up, suddenly I was plagued with the though that she knew I would rush after her. Her confident steps, as it vanished round the next bend, resounded with the knowledge that I would follow her.

She turned back, hearing me call out to her. I had to shout, as she was about to take the right-hand road. Seeing me hurrying up to catch her, she waited, blinking, as she faced the sun. I tried to organise my thoughts, as I walked towards her. “This left-hand road would be faster. Mangu Lal was saying. I am taking this way. Would you like to come?” She hesitated, as if letting the information and the proposal sink down to the depths of her realisation. I felt confused. Was it such a big decision? Then suddenly, she shook her head to signal a negative answer, and took the longer, familiar, well-travelled path. As I took the up-ward turn, I saw her vanish around a bend in the road. I felt low, not because she had not come with me, but because her eyes had clearly said that she did not trust me or my intentions.

As I trudged along, I found myself trying to reason out the thoughts in her mind. The situation presented itself to me, as she would have seen it. A man asking her to accompany her on a lonely road, in a desolate area; it was unnerving. I dismissed the thought, as I slowly got immersed in the surrounding beauty, the trickling waterfalls and the stray wild life. I reached in little more than an hour and went straight to the lodging house.

Next day I saw her, as the long line of devotees meandered along the narrow path. I adjusted my camera, as I focussed on the beautiful snow-capped peaks. Suddenly she was walking beside me. “Hello. I was planning to start early morning, tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

The Ritual

He was working in the field, when he sensed her going towards the makeshift shower. Without turning his head, he could tell that she was picking her way carefully, wary of the rough gravel. Her anklets were whispering, as if afraid to break the quiet of the morning. Carrying her fresh clothes in one hand, the other hand swinging her tightly plaited hair; she made her way, furtively glancing in his direction. This was their daily ritual.

Her hand tentatively drew the curtain, in an attempt to block out the bold rays of sunlight that struggled to make its way through the crack in the door. She could see his strong arms; brown and wiry, as he deftly cut the bamboo into long strips. She knew he was watching her, his eyes hungry, a look that made her shiver in excitement.

Taking off her clothes, she remembered she had to hurry, there were people coming home. Her hands, however, did not show any such urgency, as her fingers moved caressingly over her body, taking off each piece of garment in a languid movement. Was he watching her? Shameless fellow. She moved her eyes close to the crack. He was no where to be seen. Where is he? Did he go away? Her eyes searched the sun-swept fields and suddenly he stood up, from where he had been bent down in between the bamboo shrubs. He faced her, as he stood there bronze in the golden sun, the sweat drops glistening on his bare chest. She gasped and moved away. Had he seen her? Did he know that she was looking out for him? Her body scorched hot even as the cold water ran down.

They had finalized an alliance with their son, the people who had come the other day. She was getting married today. As she walked towards the shower, carrying fragrant oil in her hands, she looked out to see where he was. He was not to be seen. Maybe he had not yet come. She was a little early today. She decided to oil her long stresses while keeping an eye on the crack of the door. A thousand golden rays spilled in unapologetic ripples over her bosom as she untied her blouse. Where was he? Why was he late? Had he gone somewhere? Perhaps, another woman? She couldn’t bear the thought. But why? Why was she waiting for him on her marriage day? She herself would be gone in a while, never perhaps to see him again? So, why was she holding her breath in anticipation? Why was she looking out for him?

Her husband’s cousin was coming today to help with the harvest. Her husband was not keeping well and they needed an extra hand to tide away the busy months. She looked up from where she was filling the water pots, as the horse drawn tanga stopped before the house. He was standing their, as bronze, as wiry, and as strong as she remembered him every night. The future no more stressed out like an uninterrupted monotonous line, the ritual would continue.

Hey! It's Just Another Story:-)

She did not remember when she fell asleep. The pillow was wet with tears; the pillow into which she sank her face, every night, trying to shut away the pain. It was so physical, this pain; it felt as if someone or something was twisting her heart. She moved her hand over her chest trying to lessen the pain. She wanted to sleep, fall into a slumber that will take away all the memories, so that in the morning she can wake up with an empty slate for a heart. But life usually was not so kind. It did not let you use an eraser quite so liberally.

Why does it happen sometimes that you are faced with a situation that you have always dreaded? She was not prepared for this, nor was she waiting for it. She was there, whiling away her time away from the noise and chaos, in this sleepy corner of the world. She had not gone out holding her heart on her hand. She had not asked anyone, nor permitted them, to have a peek, discover what they wanted to discover and then pull her along. She was laughing through the labyrinth of life, just as she had promised herself that she would. She could'nt help when a disquieting feeling engulfed her, from time to time. But everytime she rose from that, fighting, gasping, but live and kicking. She had learnt to take care of her emotional needs.

It was then that he came. Like a messiah. She saw a friend, a person who had time for her. Her days took a new turn, waiting for the hands of the clock to reach that position when the phone would ring. She would finish all her work and wait for that time. She would keep everything aside and wait for that voice. She would dread the time when he would say bye. Time would fly. The seconds, minutes and hours would merge into a dream, removed from the reality of time and space. All that mattered was feeling each other intensely across the invisible barriers of the world.

She often wondered, now, why had he come all of a sudden? He of all people, who had the most satisfying and content life, as one can ever hope for? There was no void in his life that needed filling up! Why did he wake her from her slumber, why did he make her want to flow against the tide, why did he say to her, “tell me once, what I want to hear.” Today, every moment she remembers that one single line, that soft oh so soft voice, and all she is left with is her own tears.

They were both burning with the heat of desire, a passion so overpowering that all barriers seem to crumble in its force. It was a ring of fire that beckoned, with mesmerising intensity, even if it meant lives charred for eternity. There was no way either of them could escape it. So, it happened one day. As they came close, fate took over. An insignificant instant from the past, a story of indulgence that left nothing in its path, came between them. Was she trying to be honest? Today, as she looks back, it feels like the hands of God. But she saw that light die in his eyes. As he moved away, she knew she had lost him.

Why was a physical encounter, without love, so important to him? He had loved her, had he not? She had trusted him, had she not? No, he did not go away, which perhaps would have been easier. But he moved away, sheltering himself behind a wall of work, responsibilities, ethics and morality, unreachable, shunning her like dreaded disease.

She complains. He explains. Love is a one-way traffic, if “I love thee what’s that to thee?” He tells her that there should be no expectation. He tells her anything can happen in the future. He tells her that even if nothing exists between them from this moment, can they not live with what they had? All so true, all so sage, all so logical. But she can’t understand such profound thoughts. If all this is true, why did he risk what he had? Was it all a game, played in the spirit of adventure?

Did she deserve this? The question haunts her all the while. She is grateful for these moments they shared. Grateful? Is that the right word? Many years back, someone had said, “love is an illusion.” She had thought, what a cynical idea! Today, it seems true. To be in love with the idea of love. The expectations, the fantasy’s, the waiting and the wanting are somehow more pleasant than reality.

The day he said that he had lost everything, she knew that he meant his family. That day something died within her. The will to flow against the tide.